


Monotone Harmony

by SockWantsToDie



Category: South Park
Genre: Arguing, Denial of Feelings, Developing Friendships, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Friends to Enemies, Gen, Goths, Hate to Love, Hatred, Idiots in Love, Teen Angst, Teenage Drama, Teenage Rebellion, Teenagers, Underage Smoking, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-06-28 11:35:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15706422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SockWantsToDie/pseuds/SockWantsToDie
Summary: [Michael (Tall/Curly-Haired Goth) x Genderless Reader]I wanted to enter the South Park Annual Talent Show, but my band bailed on me. So, after getting ahold of some sensitive blackmail, I catch the attention of a certain traditional goth. Sure we're sorta enemies and all, but this could work.





	1. Morning Despair

"Honestly Michael," She comments light heartedly "Are you even among the living anymore?"

I fight back a pained wince as the sound of her soft, high-pitched voice invades my ears. The urge to cover my ears with my hands makes its presence known within my instincts. However, I chose to fight that back too. It would be better if I just stayed neutral this morning. Perhaps  _that_  would get me out of this miserable situation sooner.

In front of me, my useless conformist cunt of a step-mother stood, her big brown eyes watching me with a gaze that one would offer a kicked puppy. She anxiously wrung her hands whilst she stared at me. Of  _course_  she was too stupid to come up with something else to say. The only thing she was ever good for was wasting time anyway. Homewreckers, with their parasitic ways and chaotic nature, truly had no real personality.

Not that I would accept her even if she did.

Suddenly, her eyes finally break away from my face. Instead, they flickered down to watch as she played with that cheap ass wedding ring-that cheap ass wedding ring that my  _useless_  mother used to wear-that she wore. She continued on, twisting it on and off of her finger just as she always did whenever I made her nervous. Which was all the time.

She glanced back up at me, watching me with a shy uncertainty that somehow made her seem even more aggravating than normal. She folded her hands over one another and allowed them to fall in front of her whilst her eyes shifted back and forth between mine. I, as usual, just stared back; my eyes trained on her glabella so that I wouldn't have to pay too much attention to the way she was  _still_  looking at me.

Perhaps, if she could just gather up the energy that she was currently using to eye me like a possible threat that was closing in fast on her, or possibly a wounded animal. Then, and only then-if still possible-she could put said energy towards gathering up the required amount of brain cells in the correct area in her rapidly decaying conformist brain. To which-maybe then, and  _only_  then-she could fucking piece it together that I wasn't, and never would be in all my days on this miserable planet humanity calls home, in the mood to speak to her.

Oh Cthulhu, if only this disease ridden parasite still held even the most microscopic ounce of intelligence within her. Perhaps then she would successfully acknowledge the growing agitation that radiated off of me in a tsunami-style series of waves.

The wench noticeably bites the inside of her cheek for a brief moment and after knowing her for the past 3 years, it was a tell sign that meant she was preparing herself to speak again. As if she needed to. Catching me off guard, she hesitantly lifts a limp wristed hand up towards my face. I glance at it, thoroughly disgusted at just the idea of her touching me.

"You seem to have some eyeliner on your cheek, honey." She mentions "Let me fix it for you."

She brings her hand up completely, just like that. I'd fought her off many times, as this was not the first time she'd tried to initiate physical contact. Of  _course_  she knew not to touch me. Of  _course_  she knew how much I utterly loathed her poisoning touch. She was just too stupid to remember it and take it to that happy-go-lucky heart she houses within her. The one that laid covered top to bottom in sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows.

Quickly, I maneuver out of her way, easily dodging her oncoming hand with concise precision.

"Michael, stop being so difficult." I hear my conformist father remark "Just let Diane fix your makeup."

Anger quickly begins to bubble within the paper thin walls of cobblestone and concrete I had been built with. A sour taste appears on my razor sharp tongue as I throw a glare of daggers and swords his way. On the couch, he sat, just as he usually did nowadays. With his back to me and his betrothed clusterfuck of a wife that he'd managed to stumble upon at his office. It wasn't surprising that he was already buried back in his newspaper, far too focused on the bullshit happenings going around in town to bother paying attention to my spiteful watch. I roll my eyes in agitation almost immediately and turn my focus back to the woman in front of me. Of course he can pay attention to the lousy conformist bitch of a woman that he'd spent nearly 3 years fucking behind my mother's back, but not me. The original product of his first failed marriage.

"I'm not being difficult." I remark

I turn my back to Diane, continuing on with my morning routine.

I just wanted to get out of this house. All I wanted to do was get a single fucking cigarette lit amd in my mouth. That wasn't asking for a lot—I  _never_  asked for a lot.

I reach up and pick my near pitch black trenchcoat off of it's hook located beside the door. Silently, I slip it on over my arms and shrug it on the rest of the way. After that, I dig my hand into the pocket and take out my grey wool fingerless gloves out of the pocket. After slipping those on, I picked my scarf up off of the same hook and wrapped it around my neck. This world was shitty and full of misery. It was a place that invoked pain and suffering onto even the strongest of women and men. But what sucked worse than that was freezing your ass off in this bullshit little mountain town.

"I'd just rather she keep her fucking hands off of me." I hiss

I toss a look back at my so called stepmother, my hatred filled glare landing on her this time, rather than my worthless dad. Diane freezes up, looking similar to a deer when it's caught in headlights. She always did that when I insulted her, and that was the only good thing about her-that she didn't try to argue her worth. It was most likely due to the fact that she already knew that she had absolutely none. Diane watched me, looking just as hurt as she always did. It was obvious that she was already close to tears. And it was all because I reminded her that she had no power over me. But, that didn't make her special, no one had any power over me.

I had not had nearly enough cigarettes to be able to deal with this woman's bullshit today.

My father's voice echos from off in the living room as he scolds me. However, I wasn't having any of it. I'd wasted enough of my time standing around with these conformists. Whilst my father was half-way through his scolding, I turned back to the door. After grabbing the knob and twisting it harshly, I tugged it open.

Dad tries to protest and even makes an effort to get off the couch and put his newspaper down-shocking, I know. However, I had already pulled my cane out of the cylindric container beside the door in the rubber tray filled with random shoes. I didn't bother sparing a glance to my most likely weeping stepmother, because all she ever did was provoke me. With a surprising amount of gentleness, I pull the door shut behind me.

At least I was conscious enough to not slam the door shut like Henrietta always did when it came to her parents.

The cold immediately hits me as I stand in place for at least a second. It briefly overwhelms me with the disgusting urge to abscond back into the hell house behind me-since that was one of the few places where it couldn't fully get to me.

_How unfortunate_

I reflexively gag at my own instincts in disgust.

The longer that woman tried to speak to me, the more conformist urges began to gnaw at my being. They threaten to topple the empire of darkness that existed inside of me, and it was disgusting. In an effort to eject all distastefully ungoth thoughts from of my mind, I opt to feed them to the starving wolves housed within the barren wreckage covered frozen dessert of a soul that stood heavily guarded and caged inside of me. At least if I locked then in there then I wouldn't have to deal with them any longer.

I trudge across the snowy lawn, not even bothering with taking the pathway. As I walk, I stuff my hand into the left pocket of my trench coat, where I fish out my pack and lighter. With a single hand I flick the carton open and bring it up to my dry lips where I catch the filter end of a single cigarette that I drag out of the box. After finishing up with closing and repocketing the small box, I finally flick my lighter on and put it up to the opposite end, taking my time with sucking in the toxins. Then, when satisfied, I pull the atrociously tacky, black pentagram lighter away from the end, allowing the flame to distinguish itself before I pocket that as well. I blow out smoke from the corner of my lip, having it mix with the condensation from my breath as I reach up to take it between my fingers and pull it out.

Cthulhu, I needed this.

• • •

I refuse to set foot in Wannabe Central School. It was far too permeated with the stench and the presence of conformists and faggy vamp kids who run amongst the halls. No, instead, I made my way to the back end of the school, out on the patch of pavement and concrete where the school dumpsters rained supreme. It was a short walk, compared to the size of the one I had to take in order to get here.

The bell for first period sounds off from the school, meaning that the conformists and faggy vamp kids were to clear the hallways from inside. Meanwhile, as per usual, I pop the lock to the double gates leading into the small area. It was where I'm greeted with a curt nod from Pete, a short glance from Henrietta who was buried focused her sketchbook. I never really got anything resembling a greeting from Firkle, most likely because he's far too goth to even bother with any sort of noticeable acknowledgement of my presence.

"You're late." Henrietta comments lazily, her eyes still glued on the page she was scribbling on

"Yeah," I shrug limply "My conformist bitch of a stepmother was trying to bombard me like usual."

I turn around and shut the gate, spending a brief moment of my time relocking the lock on the gate. After that, I was clear to take my spot next to the stairs Henrietta sat on.

"Cthulhu," Pete comments "That must suck."

"At least he doesn't have to deal with my parents." Henrietta remarks "They told me that if I don't smile in this year's school picture then they'll send me to some preppy conformist camp for the whole summer."

"You better not get turned emo again." Pete tells her

"Cthulhu, no." Henrietta winces in disgust "That was  _agonizing_. I mean, I was still there in my own body. But, like, the emo plant had locked me away inside the deepest depths of my own subconscious where no matter how hard I fought, I couldn't escape because the spores would bring me back down into the pit."

"That's hardcore." Pete, Firkle, and myself all comment in a relatively disinterested unison

Of course, even after the whole emo plant situation happened, we still hadn't confessed in full to Henrietta about what really had happened that week. Even though it had been a few years since. I suppose that in a way, it was silently decided between the three of us that we never would correct her or Firkle on the situation. It happened and we fixed it, that was all. The only one of us who was allowed to bring it up in full was Henrietta. However, she rarely ever did and it was assumably for the best. The less questions the better.

I prop my cane up on the railing of the stairs so that I don't have to continue to hold it. I dig a hand into my left coat pocket and after a couple seconds of rummaging around in there, I finally pull my cigarette carton and pentagon lighter out. The lighter was still tacky as always and I hated it with a fizzling passion. But unfortunately, I was stuck with it.

Casually, I flick the pack open with my thumb and pull out a single cigarette with my free hand. With one final glance at the design on the lighter I was using, I place the stick between my lips and light it.

"Trying something different?" Pete suddenly asks

My tired eyes flicker over to Pete as I turn my head. He flipped his long bangs away from his face for what seemed to be the fifth time since I had arrived. I knew from the look in his red (he wore contacts) eyes and the opened empty pack sitting beside him that he was looking to bum some cigarettes. I pocket my lighter and extend the pack out to Pete, who quickly accepts it. He looks down at it, taking out a couple sticks before he hands it back to me.

"I thought you were, like, committed to menthol?" He continues

I retract my hand and close the pack, stuffing it back into my pocket as Pete lights one of his cigarettes. He throws his red lighter down on the pavement in front of him as he picks up his empty pack and places the two extra sticks in it before flicking it closed. He looks up at me expectantly as he reaches up and takes the cigarette between his fingers. With a puff of smoke leaving his mouth, I give him my answer.

"My conformist hippie cousin, Rodney," I begin "The one who supplies my cigarettes?"

Pete takes another drag and nods at me with a nod in reply to my words.

"Last time he dropped by he told me that I needed to 'broaden my horizons'." I continue "And he gave me camels."

"Well, you chain smoke everything. So they'll be gone eventually." Henrietta butts in "Soon, probably."

I throw a glance over her way to see that she's still scribbling in her sketchbook. Drawing was something that I'd noticed her doing a lot more of lately. Part of me, if left unchecked, would quite likely ask her what she was drawing. But, that would make me no better than some conformist Chad wannabe. So instead, I choose to keep my mouth shut about it. However, I still took down a mental note to glance over her shoulder sometime if I ever found myself standing nearby.

"What the fuck?" I hear Pete mutter

I remove myself from my disgustingly conformist thoughts and instead join the others in turning heads to look, confused, at Pete. Pete, however, didn't look back at any of us. No, he was too focused on staring into the distance, between the dumpsters and through the gate. Wondering what the hell he was so focused on, we follow his gaze, our eyes falling on the exact same thing that had so easily grabbed his attention.

"What the fuck?" We all remark in a perfect chorus

"That's what I said!" Pete exclaims, his voice still considerably dull


	2. Traditional VS Pastel

My feet thump and thunder against the concrete as I sprint as fast as I can manage down the sidewalk towards the school. I do my best to ignore the burning feeling in my lungs and my legs. I knew that the bell for first period had most likely rung by now. And oh my God, today couldn't have possibly gotten off to a worse start than this. Not only did I not have time for some form of breakfast; But, I was barely able to get my outfit together and I missed the bus because  _apparently_  my alarm broke sometime last night when my cat knocked it over. Holy shit today was already a total fucking mess. I felt so panicked that I could rival a some Britney Spears wannabe who was riddled with anxiety about whether or not they could make it onto the cheerleading team.

It was disgusting.

In my [left/right] hand I carried a small stack of music sheets that I hadn't had any time to stuff into my bag when I was still home with my shitty conformist family having an argument. Of course my faggy emo brother had already driven himself to school and nobody could be bothered to wake me up at all.  ** _Ugh!_**

At least I was almost at the school, just barely a few meters away from the side part where the dumpsters stood untouched.

I try my very best to hold my bag out in front of me, keeping it at far enough distance where I wouldn't trip over it. Carefully, I attempt to neatly stuff the papers inside without crumpling them up by stubbing them on one of my new textbooks or notebooks. However, they didn't seem to want to go in very nicely and I was in such a fucking rush-that and the ground of this shitty little mountain town was covered in snow and  _apparently_  ice. Plus!  _Plus_ , it was extremely windy outside and I only have two hands and  _one_  attention span.

So, thanks to my existence drowning in misery and suffering, I, of course, just because whatever-God hates me, manage to trip over an obnoxiously large crack in the sidewalk. A momentary feeling of weightlessness hits me as I get flung downward through the air for a short moment. My body almost instantaneously connects with the sidewalk and for a short second I felt nothing. However, the pain is quick to set in, prompting a a groan from me. Frustrated, I push myself up off of the sidewalk and get up on my aching, scratched up knees. I rub my hurting chin (that had connected the hardest with the sidewalk, apparently) and peel my tightly shut eyes open. They of course widen to the size of saucers as I watch my note sheets immediately get swept up by a gust of wind. I watch as the papers float around me in something resembling a gentle tornado of music. It looked like something out of some fucking Disney princess movie.  _ **Fuck!**_

Whilst frantically chanting the words 'No!', 'Shit!', and 'Fuck!' over and over again, I practically throw myself up onto my feet and proceed to run around like some conformist chicken with it's head cut off. Hastily, I snatch the note sheets out of the air and gather them up in a messy pile in my arms that I hold tightly against my chest. If I lose any  _one_  of these sheets then the entire song is  _ruined_!

Full set of sheets or not though, I was definitely going to lose the neat order I originally had them organized in.  ** _Dammit!_**

After gathering what seems to be all the notes I could, I saunter over to my abandoned backpack with a hatred driven scowl and an armful of papers. I would have to sort these out during second period. Great. Of course this is what I get for offering to give that music teacher, what's his face, more original music pieces for band and chorus.

Disgruntled and nearly raging, I storm over to the full pink backpack that had flown out of my hand when I'd tripped. I get down on my knees, sitting on them whilst blatantly ignoring the cold of the sidewalk as it bit and nipped at my exposed knees whilst I slapped the sheets down onto the sidewalk. After trapping the aforementioned music sheets underneath my knee, I begin to gather up all of the spilled contents of my bag. I curse my worthless family to the deepest depths of hell for my current situation as I shove various things into my bag. With the force of a thousand suns, I pick up the papers and begin stuffing them into my bag, still doing my best to not crinkle them any further through my nearly blinding anger.

"Uh, hello?" A gruff voice from behind me suddenly pipes up

I nearly jump out of my skin from surprise at the sudden visitor. Speedily, I flip myself over onto my butt so that I could be face to face with whatever asshole had decided to startle me. With my knees up to my chest and my hands placed behind me, palms against the concrete, I look up. Some edgy boy-possibly around my age-eyeing me in a judgemental confused sort of way, stood before me. In his left hand, he held a paper covered in various music notes and lines that I quickly recognized to be mine, whilst his right hand held onto a cane.

His hair was curly and styled into neat fluffy bangs where only a few stray curls hung over his bright green eyes. Said eyes were lined in lightly smudged black eyeliner while the rest of his face was untouched by makeup, clearly showing that he was just naturally that pale. He wore a long black trench coat that hung open and reached just barely above the back of his knees. The open trench coat revealed a bright white dress shirt that was tucked into his black almost leather looking dress pants. Around his neck he wore a fluffy grey wool scarf that matched his fingerless gloves that allowed his painted nails (they were black too, surprise, surprise) to show. From what I could tell, peeking out from the scarf was what seemed to be a large ribbon with two ends-and by large, I mean the hanging ends were at least three to four inches wide. Beneath that he wore a large amount thin, yet long droopy necklaces while his other jewelry was simply just various chains that were hooked on his black and silver belt. He wore a pair of shiny black boots that were covered in small belts that overlapped the black laces under them.

Holy shit, if this kid isn't the most emo I've ever seen, then I might as well throw myself off a cliff because it can't get more emo than this.

"Is there.. something wrong with you, conformist?" He questions

To say that I was offended would be an understatement.

I narrow my eyes at him, glaring daggers as a deep frown appears on my face. With a huff, I push myself up onto my feet-and-after a moment of dusting myself off, I snatch the paper from his filthy hands. How dare this emo fuck use the 'c' word on me! Conformist was a goth word  _only_ _!_

My free hand curls up into a tight fist that probably causes me to dig crescents into the palm from my bubbling anger. With the hand that now held the paper (which was completely scrunched up thanks to my harsh grip by the way) I stick an accusing finger in his face.

" _Don't_  call me a conformist, fucking emo scum!" I snap "And  _don't_  touch my music sheets!"

He stares at me for a moment, his almost black face immediately darkening to one of anger as I sharply turn around. I bend over, grabbing the top strap of my bag so that I could stuff the music sheet inside along with the rest. I zip the damn thing shut and slip it on over my shoulders. By the time I turned back around to look at the kid, he was clearly seething.

" _What_  did you just call me?" He questions, venom dripping from his tongue

" _What_?" I spitefully hiss "You can't handle people calling you out for what you really are?"

"Are you fucking serious!?" He exclaims

He tosses his arms up into the air as he shouts, his cane going with them. The stranger glares at me with hatred in his eyes as he lowers his arm. He steps towards me, getting in my face as he jabs me in the chest, prompting me to fall back a couple steps when I failed to prepare my stance.

"I am not a fucking emo, you conformist fuck! I'm goth!" He roars "You worthless fucking Brittney wannabes are all the same with your absolute bullshit!"

Not being one to back down easily, I get right back in his face, prompting him to step back a couple steps.

"Who are you calling a wannabe? You lame-o twilight reject copycat!" I yell "I'm pastel goth, not some busted ass conformist barbie doll!"

"Pastel goth?  _Pastel goth?!_ " He echos "That's hardly even goth!"

"Says you!" I argue "What are you? Traditional? That's like the closest you can possibly get to being a fucking faggy vamp kid!  _That's_  hardly even goth!"

"Bullshit!" He counters "Traditional existed way before those faggy vamp kids did! They just took our style from us because they're so fucking lazy! But at least we don't walk around looking like a depressed unicorn vomited all over us!"

"Oh fuck you!" I shout

"Fuck you too!" He shouts back

With loud grunts, we both turn our backs to each other and proceed to cross our arms over our chests. Now standing in an angry silence, we manage to overhear the bell signalling the end of second period to ring. I turn my head, allowing my arms to loosen up a bit as I look at the large orange building. I let out an annoyed groan of frustration, figuring that I have to be the first one to give in and turn back around.

"What?" I hear him scoff "Need to get to class just like the rest of the conformists in there? Figures."

I glance over at him, gritting my teeth as I growl at him. I storm up to him. But, quickly decide that I shouldn't start a fight on my first day of school. No matter how much this jackass deserved it. I choose to walk past him instead, and make sure to bump shoulders with him as I pass him by.

"Black Basic." I hiss into his ear as I pass by

I continue walking, listening to the insult he threw back at me with boiling blood.

"Pastel Poser." He spits

I flip him off and continue walking. I didn't have time for this shit today.

Upon hearing the flick of a lighter from behind me, I'm suddenly reminded that I had failed to smoke a cigarette the entire morning. Maybe that was why I'm angrier than usual? Or perhaps it's because my morning has been absolute dog shit.

Probably the latter.

As I approach the school building, the urge to smoke slowly begins to consume at me as I do my best to hold off on it, as I was already late enough.

But I have a really weak will.

As I turn off of the sidewalk and briskly head up the walkway, I end up giving in. With a few quiet extra grumbles of curses toward the nameless boy I had just left in the dust-along with a few directed towards my shitty older brother-I stuff my hand into the [left/right] pocket of my fuzzy black jacket and pull out my clear, silver colored glitter covered carton of cigarettes. With a soft sigh as I stop in front of the few steps bringing me up to the front double doors, I pop it open. I grab a cigarette with a light blue colored filter and take it between my fingers. After putting the cigarette between my lips and shutting the pack along with putting it away, I finally pull out my zodiac lighter and light the damn stick.

And  _oh God_ , did the first inhale of the toxins immediately calm me down.

I let out a small sigh as I slip the bag off my shoulders and drop it to the pavement. I could go in the building a bit later-I mean-I was already incredibly late anyway. So a few extra minutes shouldn't matter.


	3. Everyone Wants To Fight

Third period was nearly over from what the ringing bells of the large orange building behind me had managed to tell me. I, of course, was still out in the freezing cold, busy finishing my very last cigarette in an effort to erase my conformist level nerves and unchecked rage. Thankfully, my shitty morning had mostly calmed down by now. With no faggy twilight vampire ripoffs anywhere in sight to put forth utterly feeble efforts to 1-up me the only way they knew how and no more things to drop and lose to the wind, I was safely in the clear. The only thing left to bother me now was a numb body and the cold mountain air around me. However, that did nothing but calm me further. The quiet of this shitty little mountain town was admittedly much nicer when compared side-by-side to the ambiance [Hometown] had offered me day-in and day-out. Disgustingly enough, it made me almost thankful that we'd moved. However, it didn't make me any happier about the fact. At least when I was in [Hometown] I was able to be among my own kind.

A small sigh escapes me, and the air immediately condenses into a foggy cloud that blows past and dissipates. I take a final drag from my cigarette and remove my hand from my pocket. Carelessly, I drop the butt onto the ground and proceed to stomp it out underneath my black combat boots. Oh, to think that I had been in such a panicked rush to get here earlier.

I turn around and walk back over to my bag that I'd abandoned over by the concrete steps. I bend down and sweep the backpack up with a quick swipe. I take a moment to look at it, staring into the black outline of closed eyes with at least four lashes extending off of them and the triangular mouth with it's round edges, before I finally slip it on over my shoulders. I needed to go inside and get this day over with already. I didn't want to have to go home and fall into an argument with my conformist parents over why I hadn't shown up to school on my very first day. I begin my short-lived ascent up the five steps leading up to the orange bricked building and head towards the doors. After putting on my most neutral face I push open the windowed double doors before me and walk inside. I pause as the bustling hall falls still and everyone's attention redirects itself to me, I scan the room, making eye contact with almost every person who filled the large open room.

The linoleum floor still held the school mascot in the very center of the room with the team being proudly splayed around it and the trophy cases still looked as dusty as they had when I'd been brought in this weekend. Despite the large amount of students lining the entrance way, the room still held a generous amount of space which allowed various cliques to be scattered about. There were a handful of basketball jocks over by the aforementioned trophy case, the artistic Asian girls who were littered around the stairs, at least three emos (including my faggy older brother) over in the far corner next to the doors I'd just walked in, a small group of cheerleaders off to the right just a few feet past the trophy case and next to the far right stairs, the class clowns—possibly the losers who were on the far left corner by the railing of the upper half of the room by the entrance to the far left corridor, the one weird white kid who was—for whatever reason—in one of the trash cans by one of the support beams closer towards the door, and in the middle of the room just a bit off-center leaning towards the left and standing atop the green lining that surrounded the derpy school mascot stood yet another faggy black basic (or maybe he was an actual vamp kid? I didn't see any fangs in his mouth)—either way he was standing with some blonde kid who was obviously his polar opposite that apparently was talking the poor brunettes ear off. Other than that there wasn't many more people that stuck out to me all that much.

After finishing my little assessment of the room, I roll my eyes. Of course everyone here was stereotypical. Where were the non-stereotypical kids? Did this town even have any?

I take my first step forward and as if a switch had somehow gone off in the room, everyone had gone back to their respective conversations. I continue my stride, heading right for the steps that the artistic Asian girls had taken over. I weave my way through the now uninterested girls, managing to catch glimpses of the yaoi they were doodling. It seemed to be of some blonde kid who doesn't know how to button his shirt and some guy in a blue chullo hat. I squint at one drawing in particular that could very much so be classified as inappropriate for a school setting. But, I just chose to keep walking. I wasn't going to bother asking what show or manga the two were—holy shit is that them?

I watch with a quizzical face—not that I had an issue with being gay, it's just that they went to our school and these girls were drawing porn of them—as I walk past them. The boy with the chullo hat was holding hands with the blonde who kept erratically jerking and twitching as he sipped his coffee, occasionally spilling little droplets on himself. I make eye contact with one of the friends they stood with, a brunette with a varsity jacket who winked at me. I cringe in disgust and choke back a gag as I turn my attention forward.

I stuff my hand into my [left/right] jeans pocket and briefly dig around inside it.

Pocket knife, backup lighter, keys— _Ah!_  Schedule.

I pull out my crumpled up schedule. It takes a moment of my attention as I weave through the crowd of nameless faces to unfold and smooth out the practically destroyed schedule. And trust me, when I say destroyed, I mean it had a huge tear across the middle that cut through the layout containing close enough to everything that I needed to know to get through the year. Of course it still had all of my classes and what little information that had been added in, don't get me wrong. But, in the corner it had my locker number and combination which had to be scribbled into the corner by the principal because whoever made the schedule was too stupid to put  _it_ —along with my name—on the paper above the class list.

> Locker Number: 221  
> (18-3-21)

As I power walk down the hall, I habitually glance between my schedule and the lockers that I pass by. I couldn't remember which side it was on. Which, worry not, wasn't surprising at all because it was a Saturday that I had to spend here. So of course I had other things on my mind at the time.

Upon finally reaching my locker, I stop and take a few seconds of my time to glance between it and my schedule a couple more times to make sure. Unfortunately for me, a couple of stray cheerleaders were standing in front of it, talking about something I couldn't care less about. With an annoyed sigh, I walk over, pushing the two girls aside by their shoulders and thus interrupting their  _Oh So Important™_   conversation. Now that I was finally standing in front of said locker, I once again double check between the schedule and the actual locker number, confirming to myself that yes, this was indeed my locker for the year. All that I needed to do now was spin in the combination, pop the fucker open, store my shit, and get to whatever class I had next.

No problemo. Today will be over in no time.

I slip my backpack off of my shoulders and allow it to fall to the floor, it's impact creating a loud thump that most likely drew a little attention. But hey, what didn't draw attention to me at this point?

I take hold of the combination lock and spin in the combination, managing to fail a whopping three whole times in a row.

Of course. 

The world wasn't done with me just yet.

With loud sigh of frustration, I let go of the lock. Tiredly, I rest my forehead on the locker and allow my arms to dangle in front of me.

"Well, well, well," A shrill voice from behind you remarks condescendingly "If it isn't the new kid. Having locker troubles?"

I turn to the owner of the voice, who turns out to be one of the two cheerleaders I'd shoved out of my way when I'd walked up to my locker. She was short—possibly the shortest person I've ever seen in all of my 16 years of life. She was pretty petite too, a tiny little thing with a voice so high that if she talked any higher she would most likely hit a frequency that she could only torture animals with, rather than the humans around her. She wore her hair big and wavy, it shined so much it could be mistaken for plastic, just like the rest of her. Her uniform was clearly modified to be more provocative than it needed to be. The band of her skirt was probably on her waist, possibly even higher judging by how it came to her mid thigh. Meanwhile, her shirt was pulled down as far as it could go and I had no idea as to how she made it stay there. Perhaps it was just her obnoxiously huge—

"You  _do_  know that school started at least two hours ago, right?" She snaps, no she literally snapped her fingers at me

"You  _do_  know you look like a whore, right?" I deadpan

"Excuse you?" She exclaims "At least I don't look like a– _a_ —"

She brings a hand up to rest on her chest as she stares at me with widened eyes. Her face was quick to scrunch up the second she heard the first syllable leave my mouth. The redhead cheerleader beside her covers her mouth in shock, possibly to hide some sort of laugh judging by the creases on her face. I turn my entire body around and stalk up to the blonde. Honestly, she was somehow even shorter up close.

"A— _what?_ " I challenge

She visibly stumbles for some sort of an insult, her eyes running up and down my figure over and over again as she stammers.

"Look, I don't know what your daddy taught you in clown college," I tell her "But judging by your makeup and the way you talk, then it wasn't much."

A gentle chorus of ooh-ing fills the hallway and I throw a bitter look at all who dared to watch this unfold before returning my attention to the bitch in front of me. 

"But in  _here_ ," I explain, pointing down at ground between us "In public school, most people actually make a daily effort to  _not_  walk and talk like walking stereotypes and dried up clichés."

I lift my hand and point in a random direction down the hallway to dismiss her. She childishly stomps her foot and balls her hands up into fists that stand out straight by her sides. The blonde cheerleader puffs her cheeks out, her face red from either anger or embarrassment, I didn't bother to decipher which.

"So get the fuck away from me," I hiss  "Before the scent of burning plastic damages someone's lungs."

"Excuse me.. excuse me.. sorry! Coming through!" A much softer, less high pitched tone comes from within the silent crowd

I look up in the direction of the noise. My focus is immediately drawn to a considerably tall girl, with black hair that reaches halfway down her back that held a lilac colored beret firmly in place atop her head. She wore an open jacket of the same color, which really disagreed with the green and white scheme of her cheerleader uniform. She pushes her way through a small portion of the crowd that blocked up the hallway to watch the quarrel before them. I watch her with suspicious eyes as she nearly sprints over to the blonde before me, who smiled warmly at her. She stops beside her friend and wraps her arms around a single arm belonging to the other girl. She looks up at me apologetically.

"Bebe, leave the new kid alone," She whispers to her friend "You need to stop picking on people."

The blonde just giggles and puts a hand up to her friend's ear where she whispers something I can't quite catch. I narrow my eyes at her out of bitterness and spite. The blacknette shakes her head in reply.

"Unbelievable." She huffs

She starts to drag the girl off through the crowd as I begin to calm down.

At least not everyone in South Park is a complete jackass.

"I'm really sorry about this! That's not our usual South Park welcome, I swear." She sputters

She turns back to the crowd.

"That's it people! Move it along!" She barks "No fights today!" 

A collective chorus of disappointed aw's comes from the crowd as the circle brakes up and for the second time since I'd walk in the doors, people go back to what they'd been originally doing. The bell rings just in time and the hallways begin to clear out, which leaves me to turn back to my locker, that I still needed to open.

Oh happy happy joy joy.

With a small sigh, I once again grab the lock, figuring that I might as well give the combination another shot—or fifteen. I input the combination a few more times, and after at least three more tries, I finally manage to get the damn thing unlocked. I breathe a relieved sigh as I remove the lock and pop the locker open. I turn to my bag and bend over to unzip it. It takes a couple minutes of gathering. But soon enough I had everything that I wouldn't need for the day gathered up in my arms, ready to be stowed away. I straighten up and turn back to my locker, taking a step towards it so that I could better reach inside. I was just about to start organizing things into it when suddenly it's slammed shut in my face.


	4. Conformist Groupies?

You have  _got_  to be fucking kidding me!

Everything I originally had in my arms drops to the ground in front of me as my rage finally bubbles up and surfaces. I let out a frustrated scream as I make a fist and drive it straight into the locker, making a decently sized dent that was most likely going to get me in trouble. I turn to the unfazed culprit, a chubby kid stood with his arm still against my locker and a big smile on his face. His brown hair was straight and fluffy, and the bangs hung low enough to cover his eyes. But, instead, they'd been pushed back to catch on his knitted grey beanie. As an outfit he wore a slightly oversized red jacket with a white zipper line and white strings. This jacket, was worn over a black polo which apparently was worn over a blue and white striped shirt with a violet collar. Either way, both shirts tucked into his jeans, which were a dark blue and baggy. A silver clip was hung from the front right belt loop, which apparently was connected to a shoe chinpokomon key chain dangled from it. Behind said clip, and threaded through the rest of his belt loops, was a black belt with silver double hoops and a silver buckle. The jeans overall hung just low enough to crumple up at the bottom where they touched on his most likely Walmart brand black sneakers.

"What the fuck, man!?" I roar

He extends his hand out to me for a handshake, his stupid smile never leaving his face.

"Eric Cartman, at your service." He introduces himself

I bitterly swat his hand away.

"Don't touch me." I hiss

Eric puts his hands into the pockets of his jacket with a nonchalant 'suit yourself' shrug. I brush him off and turn back to my now damaged locker in a huff. With my foot, I brush all of my dropped textbooks, notebooks, and everything else to the side. I step closer to my locker where I grab the combination lock and begin to spin in the combination for the millionth time today. My eyebrows furrowed in concentration as I finish up and pull on the lock to open it.

Nothing.

I let out a frustrated groan and put my face in my hands as I walk around in a circle before ending back in front of the locker. Eric was still standing beside me, watching me with expectant eyes and a smug grin. I whip my head around to look at him, a sour look on my face as I glare at him with every ounce of anger I could muster.

" _What?_ " I snap, impatiently

"I could get it open for you." He tells me

"Gee could you?" I reply, sarcastically "Considering that you're the one who  _ **shut it**_."

Eric shrugs once again, grin widening briefly as his eyes squeeze shut. He brushes me aside, and I comply begrudgingly, allowing him to step in front of my locker. He takes the lock in his fat, grubby little conformist hands and looks over to me with yet another expectant gaze. I lean up against the locker beside mine. I cross my arms over my chest and one leg over the other as I get comfy against the metal door.

"What?" I snap, yet again

"I need the combination," He replies "Obviously."

"Why you—" I narrow my eyes

"I don't have to open it if you don't want me to."

I uncross my arms with another frustrated groan. I roll my eyes as I turn around and bend over, picking up the schedule. I turn back around with the paper now in my hands to see his eyes return to my face. I shake my head dismissively and choke down my rage. I couldn't get into any fights on my first day. No matter how much everyone seemed to want me to.

"You're lucky this is my first day, pal." I bitterly hiss "Or else you'd be a dead man. The combo is 18, 3, 21."

Eric begins to spin in the combo speedily, giving me confidence that he would fuck it up rather quickly. I assume my previous position leaning against the locker, arms crossed over my chest, one leg over the other, only difference this time was that I still held the schedule in one of my hands.

"Nothing can kill me," He brushes my threat off casually

He glances away from the lock, his hazel eyes meeting my [eye color] ones as he offers a cocky smile. But just as it had happened, it was over. And he had turned his attention back down to the combination lock in front of him.

"Nothing ever has." He finishes, proudly

I scoff and roll my eyes "Oh I'm  _so_  sure."

He pulls on the lock, unlocking it with ease before he takes it off and extends it out to me. I'm taken aback, and it shows in how slowly I take the lock from him after pushing myself back off of the lockers. Eric pops the locker open as he stares into my eyes.

"I once made a kid eat his family after I turned them to chili." He explains

I snort and turn around to the pile of stuff gathered behind me. I squat down in order to avoid this kid's ogling of my ass as I pick everything up and stack it in my arms. It takes a moment of time and effort. But, it gets done and I'm already talking by the time I stand back up and spin around to my locker where I begin to put things away.

"Oh ha ha." I reply "Of course you conformists are all the same with your bullshit war stories."

"I'm serious." He insists

"And I'm some faggy emo kid. I'm so sure." I reply, rolling my eyes "Listen, tubby, your story is cute and all, but it-"

"Ask anyone in school." He interrupts "They'll tell you. Even that jew fag Kahl."

"I don't want to ask  _that jew fag Kahl._ " I explain, mocking his tone and accent "I don't want to talk to anyone else in this school. I just want to be left alone."

"But—"

"Cartman, you fat fuck!" A voice echoes down the hallway "There you are!"

I turn my head as Eric whips around to greet whoever was jogging down the hallway to see him. I snort quietly at the insult.

"Kahl, you son of a bitch!" He yells back "I'm not fat  _goddammit!_ "

"You're pretty fat." I add

"Stay out of it, unicorn vomit." He hisses, finally changing his tune

"Why does everyone phrase it like that?" I growl

I finish putting away the last of my stuff and close my locker. The steps slow down as I back up a couple steps so that I could see around the brick wall of fat that is Eric Cartman. A trio of boys slow their jogs to walks that gradually slow to stops.

The first of them who stood more towards the front was a tall ginger boy with eyes as green as plant life in the rain forest and with more freckles dotting his cheeks and nose than there were stars dotting the night sky. He appeared to be taller than 6 foot at the least and he towered over at least three of us, with the raven haired boy to his right being the only one who came close to his height. His hair was extremely curly and it framed his face with a gentle down leaning afro, the bangs—which were parted more towards the left. But, that could just be because that's how they'd fallen down his face after being pushed back—nearly reached down past his chin. However, because they were curly they hung just a couple centimeters above his jawline. He was dressed in a greenish jacket with a black hood and blue cuffs. It was worn unzipped—like Eric wore his—which showed off his bright white shirt that drooped loosely over his dull grayish blue jeans that threatened to cling to his skinny legs. He wore a pair of big, bright red Chuck Taylors that could make you think he was secretly Bigfoot.

To his right, as previously mentioned, was the second tallest of the trio. He was a boy with hair that was colored such a dark shade of brown that looked nearly black. His hair was styled into a long crew cut that swept up towards the sky without any noticeable effort. His eyes were a cloudy blue color and he had a couple freckles, I think. There wasn't really much to him other than his outfit. But, I can tell you that he was built like a wall of stone, much more muscle-y than Eric, I guess.

 _Ugh_ , I can't believe I just said that.

Regardless, he wore a varsity jacket—It looked _exactly_  like the one I'd seen earlier—that was partially zipped up over his light brown shirt and said varsity jacket reached just low enough to beat the bottom of his brown shirt on the way down over his tight light blue jeans. He wore light green high top vans for shoes that looked brand new.

Besides those two, there was the kid who stood on the far left. He wore a conformist award winning smile that made me a little sick from how wholesome and pure it was—even if there was a noticeable gap between his two front teeth, he still looked like your stereotypical pretty boy conformist. His hair was a dirty blonde mess of waves that threatened to become curls, and it was parted off to the right. However, much of it still hung over his right eye and refused to be tucked underneath the hood of his dull orange hoodie. His hands were tucked away into his sweatshirt's pockets instead of in the pockets of his dirty jeans that seemed to have so many rips in them that it was an honest shocker that they hadn't ripped in half. Not only did they look like they wanted to rip in half, but they were clearly just a little too big for him anyway—he was clearly a twig and they were at least a size or two too big. I'm pretty sure that if they weren't rolled up at the ends—even if they still hung over the shoes—they would most likely completely cover the pair of obviously Walmart brand shoes that looked like they'd seen better days.

I mean seriously, at least Eric's shoes _tried_  to pretend that they were name brand.

No matter what though, this kid definitely looked like the type of guy who would wear so much cologne that you would be able to tell where he'd been just from the scent hanging in the air. Even though he clearly didn't do that.

Or at least that's what my nostrils told me.

Whatever, back to the situation at hand.

"They come to _finally_ get you away from me?" I remark "Or will I be held at gunpoint and forced to ask about the chili?"

"He actually told you that—?" The redhead says, surprised before he quickly shakes his head "Wait—nevermind. Who are  _you?_ "

I walk around Eric and pick up my backpack. I take a moment to dig through my stuff as I walk back around and disappear behind Eric, who turns.

"Yeah, you never  _did_ tell me what your name was." Eric adds

"None of your goddamn business." I sharply reply "That's my name."

"Oh you're the new kid." I hear the, assumably, brunette kid point out

"Gee, I had no idea." I reply, rolling my eyes "Don't you guys have a class to go to?"

"Don't you?" The redhead asks back

I release a frustrated sigh as I hang my head for a moment. I quietly shut my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose for a minute, before picking my head back up and returning to removing my things from my bag.

"[First Name]." I murmur

"What?"

"[First Name]!" I say, louder "You want my name so bad then there."

The dirty blonde makes his way over to me and grabs my locker, pulling it all the way back against the others as he leans into my vision.

"I like it." He tells me

He grinned again, with that stupid smile that I was quickly beginning to hate with a burning passion.

"What else can you tell me about yourself?" He asks

"That I'm well versed in the art of curb stomping," I hiss, turning my head to him "Step off."

"Don't you mean  _step on_?" He remarks, cheekily

I roll my eyes.

"Kenny, stop pissing off the new kid." The brunette states "They've already been stuck talking to Eric for who knows how long."

"Hey!" Eric exclaims "Fuck you, Stan!"

"Fuck you, Cartman." Stan counters

"Guys—" Kenny tries to cut in

Kenny straightens up and turns his attention to his bickering conformist friends—if you could even call them that. They argued with each other much like my parents did, which could be amusing if I actually had the capability to laugh.

"Both of you knock it off." The redhead cuts in

"Mind your own business, you greedy jew!" Eric exclaims

"Guys, c'mon—" Kenny attempts again

"Oh suck my jewish nuts, Eric!" Kahl counters

I promptly close my locker and head off down the hallway, easily slipping away from the arguing group of four. I glance down at my schedule, reading along the line for fourth period. Apparently the first class I was going to attend for the day was math. Lucky me.

"Guys!" Kenny shouts

" _What_ , Kenny!?" The other three shout in unison

They go quiet for a moment before I hear the sound of running footsteps.

"Hey, wait up, [First Name]!" Kyle calls to me

"Goddammit, do we really have to run?" Eric complains

"Shut it, fatass." Stan insults

"I'm not fat, asshole!" Eric shouts

I turn around, watching as the group jogs up to me with Kyle being the first to stop in front of me.

"Do you want us to help you find your classes?" He asks "This school is pretty big and it's easy to get lost-"

"What're you trying to do, sweep me off my feet?" I  "Yeah, I don't think so."

Kyle's cheeks turn pink.

"It's not like that-!" He protests "I just thought-"

"Look, Kyle is it? I'm not interested. I'm not gonna trip and fall on my face for you just because you decided to walk me to class like a good little conformist loser."

"Conform- what?" Kyle says, dumbfounded and thoroughly embarrassed

"Wait, [First Name], you're a goth?" Stan questions

I glance over at Stan.

"Yeah, is there a problem?" I hiss defensively

Was I about to get into another argument?

"Oh," He replies, lamely "I used to hang with the goths, I don't know if you saw them out back by the dumpsters or—"

"Is one of them tall?" I ask

Stan nods

"With curly black hair?" I continue "Serious attitude problem?"

"Michael," He corrects

"Yeah, you can fuck right off, buddy." I dismiss

I turn away as Stan's jaw drops.

"I had an argument with that black basic this morning," I explain "I don't plan on associating with any of his conformist friends."

Eric puts his hand out to stop me.

"Look, the bitchy attitude is cute and all," Eric comments "But, like it or not, you're gonna need friends to make it in this school."

"No I-" I'm interrupted

"Just let us help you out," Kyle cuts in "I know being the new kid sucks. But, you'll get eaten alive if you go at it alone. South Park can swallow you whole, okay? It's happened to plenty of people who lived here."

"There are some who barely made it a week before they left." Kenny adds

"A lot of weird stuff happens in this town," Kyle continues with a nod to Kenny "I know it doesn't seem like much. But, South Park is fuckin' crazy."

"We just want to help you." Stan pleads

I glance between all four of them, making eye contact with each one. Part of me still wasn't convinced, part of me wanted to walk away from this whole thing, this whole town. I knew that it would be going against my own principals to hang out with these pests and it would most likely completely annihilate my image if any of the pastel goths back in [Hometown] found out about it.

But another part of me believed them.

I glance down at my boots, a quiet sigh making it's way past my lips as I asked myself the dreaded question of 'what am I doing?' Maybe it was because I was tired of arguing my way through the day, or just because I didn't want to end up alone after all. But, I don't think I could ever forgive myself for what I was about to say to these boys.

I shut my eyes tightly and force the word out, deciding to take the 'rip it off like a bandaid' approach to giving my answer.

"Okay." I cave

They share their happiness with their small yeses and fist pumps, from what I could tell when I looked back up at them.

"But," I add "You better not make me regret this."

"Of course not," Kyle smiles "Could I see your schedule?"

I press my lips into a thin line as I begrudgingly handed him the schedule.

"Here." I huff

"Sweet," He chimes "Now let's see what you have.."

"Jesus Christ, what did you do to that thing?" Eric remarks "It looks just as bad as Kinny's."

"Hey!" Kenny exclaims

"It's not my fault you're poor, Kinny." Eric snaps "Don't you whine to me with that poor kid voice!"

"Oh again with the poor kid jokes" Kenny rolls his eyes "Why don't you—"

"I have fourth period English with you." Kyle suddenly mentions

I look away from Kenny and over at Kyle, who looks up at me through his lashes. Suddenly, the boys all crowd around Kyle. Well, save for Eric, who just patiently waits on the sidelines with his arms crossed over his chest. He eyes Kyle, his eyes flickering up and down with suspicion, or maybe it was curiosity as Kyle, Kenny, and Stan all read over my schedule. Stan suddenly points to a random spot in the middle of the paper.

"Kenny and I have chemistry with you." He chimes

"We apparently have math with Kyle, and then German together." Kenny continues "And gym."

"You're in chorus?" I ask, skeptically

"Yeah, I love chorus." Kenny admits

Kenny looks up at me with that goddamn smile as I stare at him with a small bit of surprise. Kyle suddenly extends the schedule over to Eric. He gestures for Eric to take it, and the chubbier boy hesitantly takes it into his hands. Suspiciously, he eyes Kyle, before he looks down at the schedule he now held. I tap my foot as he quickly skims it over, his eyebrows knitted together in concentration.

"We have first period together.. second.." He names them off, quietly "And study hall."

"We all have last period study hall together, I think." Kyle points out

"Sweet!" Kenny exclaims "One more person for paper airplane races!"

Eric hands me the schedule that I place atop my notebook.

"I'm not doing that." I argue

"Awwww! Why nooot?" Kenny whines

"Because it's stupid," I huff

"Ouch," Stan comments casually

The bell suddenly rings, signalling that it was time for—

"Lunch!" Eric and Kenny exclaim excitedly

The two share their looks of pure joy as they take off back down the way I had just come from down the hallway. Stan and Kyle both follow them down with their eyes, Stan being the first to take off after them.

"Hey, wait for us, assholes!" Stan calls

Kyle turns back to me, extending his hand out to me.

"You coming?" He asks

"I guess?" I reply, unsure "But, I'm not taking your hand."

Kyle shyly retracts his hand as I walk down the hall past him. I stop just a few feet away and turn around to look at him when I realize he wasn't walking with me. He stood in the same spot he was in when I'd passed him. Kyle awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks pink yet again as his eyes meet mine.

"Are you coming or what?" I ask "I spent my entire morning arguing with people and I'm hungry."

A small smile spreads across his face as he jogs to my side. Unphased, I turn back to walk down the hallway that was quickly getting filled with students pouring out of classrooms.


	5. Chapter 4.5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo! Author here! I just felt like adding a small tidbit since I'm lacking a bit of motivation to push forward. Just figured I'd offer something, so here you go! Hope this is good.

As the trio disappears down the large hallway and into the crowd, Christophe quietly scoffs and shake his head in disappointment.

"Looks like they've caught another one." He comments, his french accent as thick as always

Gregory nods in agreement from where he stood beside him.

"Afraid so." Gregory tsks "Poor girl."

Christophe turns his full attention to his comrade. He quietly wipes his tired face with his bandaged hand, rubbing his eyes before running the same hand through his dark brown hair.

"Now Gregory, can I please leave to go have a smoke?" Christophe questions

"Yes Christophe, we can go now." Gregory tells him 

Gregory turns his full attention to Christophe, his eyes just as cool and calculating as always. Christophe used to feel a bit irritated when he was constantly being sized up by his friend, but it was a gaze he had only just recently grown to accept.

"I was just concerned for the girl's safety." Gregory continues "Since the fatass is un—"

"Unstable, yes yes. We know." Christophe waves him off

Christophe turns his attention away as the need for nicotine to enter his bloodstream begins to flare up again. He looks around, quickly locating the nearest exit as the bell rings and the halls begin to clear.

"Come now before I punch one of these American pigs in the face for giving me those looks." Christophe tells his friend shortly

Christophe casually grabs his comrade by the collar of his layered shirts, proceeding to lead them both to the exit he had chosen. The school was barely monitored so they were able to leave easily.


End file.
